


the one where merlin meets a strange man with a blue box.

by 875857



Category: Doctor Who, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/875857/pseuds/875857
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waiting for Arthur is hard, and Merlin is lonely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the one where merlin meets a strange man with a blue box.

Years. Decades. Centuries.

Merlin rubs the dirt from his eyes, the gravel pressing into his other palm as he lowers himself to the ground. He hates nights like this, when everything he does seems worthless without him ( _Arthur_. Merlin can’t even say his name anymore.). Like his entire existence is simply static, until he ( _Arthur, Arthur, Arthur_.) comes back one day and brings meaning back into this meaningless world. Perhaps he’s become cynical, dry, listless - but he’s seen the world change, wars fought, won, lost - and the few people he cared about die. He’s shed identities like layers in the sun, explored, travelled, but everything is bleak without the golden hair, blue eyes, and Pendragon red to bring back color.

Maybe he hates what he’s become, but he doesn’t hate Arthur. That seems to be more impossible than Merlin dying. And that’s only happened once, for ten minutes - when Merlin was hit by a car in Indiana. It took less than ten minutes to restart his heart, when he knows he shouldn’t have woken back up at all.

He sits on the edge of a small building, legs not dangling over the side but pulled up against his chest. Wind beats at the thin fabric of his shirt, jeans worn through the knees and shoes rubbed raw at the soles. His hair is longer than he likes, but he’s grown too old to care, and it curls over his face like a shield. Through the spaces of his bangs, he watches the skyline - the utter blackness of the night broken with smatterings of stars in the sky and city lights from below.

He doesn’t contemplate jumping - he doesn’t even think about it. Merlin doesn’t want there to be a world where Arthur comes back and he’s gone from it, however impossible he thinks it might be. Merlin doesn’t want Arthur to be alone.

He does, however, want to sleep.

He closes his eyes and isn’t sure how much time passes. He can feel the chill  
of the night sinking into his bones, shaking hands with the deep seated numbness that Merlin is used to. It might have even rained for a bit, because his shirt is stuck against his back, hair matted down with water. Merlin sighs, unable to pull up the strength to curl out of his little ball.

And then someone is standing next to him, and the new person speaks;

“Bit cold out here, isn’t it?”

Merlin looks up at the person, and his surprise is clear as day.

“Hello,” the stranger says, “I’m the Doctor.”

•

 

Merlin is no stranger to strange things - they’ve been happening to him for his entire life, ever since he was born to a small town named Ealdor that’s now been reduced to dust. And a majority of those stranger things Merlin is the one that makes happen, even if his magic has seemingly dulled over the years. 

But the Doctor is…

Merlin has no words for it. He learns very quickly that the Doctor is a strange man with a blue box, and his intuition tells him that there is so much more to the Doctor than meets the eye. Then again, it should also be blatantly obvious to anyone with eyes - because Merlin can sense the darkness that seems to lie beneath the Doctor’s words, his fanciful stories, behind the brightness of his eyes and his smiles. 

He first gets a glimpse of that when Merlin kills someone - frankly, Merlin thinks it was justified. They were attacking him, and Merlin is not the innocent village boy he once was. And he hasn’t been, not for the longest time. Years of protecting his king made him pragmatic, and the years of waiting have made him bitter.

But instead feeling of besotted or impressed, all he can do is compare the Doctor to the king he once followed and forever waits for.  

•

It’s months later, when one more adventure has them laughing breathlessly, stumbling through the doors of the Tardis that Merlin leans forward and presses an adrenaline fuelled kiss to the Doctor’s lips.

The Doctor doesn’t respond, doesn’t even say anything - he only pulls back from the kiss and stares at Merlin with increasing awkward discomfort. Just as Merlin expected, honestly. Merlin’s expression is rueful, because they both knew this would happen, but would never work.

Because the Doctor is the Doctor, and Merlin is destined to belong to, to wait for another. The atmosphere softens as Merlin suddenly laughs. His eyes crinkle at the edges as he pillows his forehead against the Doctor’s shoulder, inhaling the smell of him. The Doctor relaxes a little, and a hand is placed on Merlin’s back, patting him twice before squeezing his shoulder.

“Well, where shall we go next?” says the Doctor, before he’s suddenly gone from Merlin’s space, and Merlin is wiping away the wetness from his eyes. He’s still smiling though, because the Doctor understands.

After all, misery loves company, and loneliness is not a far cry from misery.

•

Five years, two months, and sixteen days after their first meeting, on the cusp of a new year, Merlin corralls the Doctor into his favourite pub.

Not for drinking, no - but because he loves their chips and gravy, and the last time he visited the current owner was just a young girl and therefore won’t remember him. She welcomes them just as her father did to him, decades ago, with a rough Irish accent and a toothy grin, and Merlin sucks in a breath at how strongly of a reaction this incites in him.

The Doctor is watching him carefully, out of the corner of his eye, and Merlin appreciates it. Appreciates the way the Doctor doesn’t say anything about it either. Something about tonight feels off. Merlin feels on edge, and the Doctor has a look to him that Merlin has deciphered to mean that he’s hiding something. But Merlin doesn’t pry, because trying to pry usually doesn’t get him anything, anyway.

They find a table near the back, their ankles brushing because of their general long-limbedness, and they chat with the familiarity two beings such as theirselves can do. He relaxes as best he can in the seemingly fragile atmosphere, the constant stream of people talking, games of pool, and music a pleasant lull the background. But then the news plays on the old, rickety-looking television, and Merlin finds his eyes drawn to the screen.

And at that moment, everything changes -

\- because Prince Arthur Penn, eighteen years old and third in line to the throne, has apparently gotten a DUI.

His magic suddenly flares up in him, stronger and more intense than it has in _ages_. It had become stagnant, subdued - but now it's rising up in him like a tidal wave, and it's through pure will that he keeps it down. His eyes flare gold, and Merlin holds his breath. He stares at the faded color screen and digs his nails into the wood of the table. The Doctor is forgotten as he watches the pictures they’re putting on the screen - blurred, Arthur is trying to tilt his face away, even as he’s being escorted into a police car. But Merlin knows. Merlin  _knows_  it’s him. There’s no mistaking it. 

“Of course he’s royalty again,” is all Merlin can say as tears stream down his face -  _overwhelmed_ , because he’s back.

 _Arthur_  is  _back_.

And the Doctor knows his adventure with Merlin is coming to an end.

**Author's Note:**

> just a drabble.


End file.
